Just Deserts
by SatinCoveredSteel
Summary: Entry for the Die, Daddy C, Die contest-see Offside by Savage7289.  Carlisle's on his way to Seattle to catch his flight, but runs into some unexpected complications along the way.  Rated M.


**Penname:** SatinCoveredSteel  
><strong>Title:<strong> Just Deserts  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Carlisle's on his way to Seattle to catch his flight, but runs into some unexpected complications along the way.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer; no copyright infringement is intended. The specific story and characters of Offside are used with permission of the author for purposes of this contest, only.  
><strong>Contest:<strong> Die, Daddy C, Die

**A/N:** This is quite different from my usual writing, but I just couldn't bear to pass up the chance to off Offside's Carlisle. ;) And yes, my spelling of 'just deserts' is correct. Check out the explanation at the end of my profile, or this wiktionary page: en . wiktionary . org/wiki/just_deserts

o~o~o

If he hadn't dumped her by the time I got back, there was going to be fucking hell to pay.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I drove through the gathering darkness on an isolated stretch of the 101, somewhere between Forks and Port Angeles. I planned to catch the ferry to Seattle tonight, crash in a hotel room for a few hours, then be up bright and early for my flight to Chicago.

But no matter how much distance I put between us, my last conversation with Edward—and the infuriating complication of the Swan girl—continued to play on my mind.

There was no question that the girl was bad for him; now more than ever, his priority had to be the game. We had one chance to catch Aro Volturi's eye, and I wasn't going to let some clingy bitch screw that up for us. Edward had assured me that she wouldn't turn into a distraction, but I had already seen for myself that that wasn't true. Missing practices, lagging run times...despite his excuses, I knew she'd been the real reason. How long would it be before she started costing him games?

There was no place for her in his future. None at all.

Of course, I had a feeling the idiot wouldn't see it that way.

I wasn't sure which bothered me more, the way she'd clung to him after the game tonight, or the way he had looked at her. Frankly, I couldn't see what all the fuss was about; she was just a plain slip of a thing compared to the chicks who were usually fawning all over him. But whatever her mysterious appeal was, I had an uneasy feeling that she was more than just a quick screw to him.

And it was pretty obvious that _she_ was after more than just a quick fuck behind the bleachers as well.

I narrowed my eyes, my fingertips drumming on the wheel. Truth be told, there was something else about that Swan bitch that worried me. I couldn't shake the feeling that she _knew _something. But Edward would never... I took a deep breath. No, he would never say anything. Would he? Surely she couldn't have guessed on her own?

In any case, we had to get rid of her. The sooner the better.

Maybe I should go ahead and have her checked out now, just in case Edward didn't have the stomach to dump her. There had to be something in her past, something I could use if push came to shove. I pulled out my phone, pondering the idea.

No, there would be plenty of time for that once I reached the ferry. I wasn't one of those chickenshits who was too much of a pussy to use a phone while driving, but it was dark, and the rain was starting to come down pretty hard, limiting visibility... Best to play it safe. I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

It was coming down in fucking buckets, actually. I frowned in annoyance, switching the wipers up to high, and cursed the Washington weather as the long, slanting drops glinted in the beam of my headlights.

I fucking hated the rain.

I pushed the Mercedes faster, hoping to drive out of the wet shit as soon as possible.

I spotted another car up ahead; it shone bright red in the beam of my headlights. It was traveling a little slower than I was, and I caught up to it quickly—right before a curve, of course. Shit. With a sigh, I eased up on the gas and followed on their tail until the next straightaway. Unfortunately, there weren't a lot of those on this particular section of highway. I tapped my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, until finally I decided to just go for it.

I pressed down on the accelerator, moving out part way into the other lane as I started to pass.

The red car increased its speed to match.

What the fuck?

I sped up more, but they kept matching my speed, refusing to give way. Finally, I had to give up and drop back. My body was shaking with fury as I glared at the other car, still ahead of me. Who the fuck did those pricks think they were? There were two of them—probably a couple of fucking teenagers out for a joyride. I squinted at the outline of the driver, but all I could see was a head of full, curly hair.

A woman driver. Figures.

My breath hitched in my throat. A woman driver...

Shit, shit, shit...

I gritted my teeth, gripping the wheel harder. I was _not_ going to go there. Not now. Not tonight.

I needed to hit something, but there was nothing within reach that wouldn't hurt me more than I hurt it. I gritted my teeth, struggling to calm myself down. I needed to get these motherfuckers out of my sight. Maybe someone else would have slowed down, pulled over for awhile until he calmed down. But I had a ferry to catch.

And besides, I was Carlisle Cullen; I wasn't going to give up the road to some fucking asshole just because they drove like a lunatic.

I tried again, determined to win this time; again, they sped up. I cursed out loud, slamming my palm on the rim of the wheel. I swore I could see that bitch laughing her ass off as I tried to overtake her. She obviously thought she was fucking hilarious. Well, if she wanted a fucking drag race in the middle of the fucking 101, she could—

Sudden headlights blinded me, and I jerked my foot away from the gas pedal, dropping back behind the red car just in time to avoid the huge logging truck coming the other way. The horn blared at me as it thundered past.

_Holy fucking..._

My heart raced in my chest, and for a few moments I simply stared at the car in front of me, too numb to process what had just happened.

But the numbness didn't last long.

I felt my face growing hot, my hands tightening on the steering wheel as I struggled to contain my rage. The assholes were both laughing now—the driver and her boyfriend or whatever. Laughing their heads off about my car almost becoming the newest hood ornament on that logging truck.

Maybe it was all the stress from worrying about the Swan girl...maybe it was that only a few moments ago I'd come far too close to thinking of _that day_. Or maybe it was the fact that I'd just narrowly avoided being turned into a fucking pancake... Whatever the reason, the calm exterior I was usually able to maintain crumbled into dust.

In other words, I lost it.

My palm mashed down on the horn—once, twice...three, four, five, six, seven times in quick succession. I saw the driver glance in her mirror, still shaking with laughter.

Fucking bitch.

My hand came down again, honking the horn for all it was worth. I moved up closer behind them, practically touching their rear bumper before backing off again.

I was _really_ pissed off.

Finally, they began to slow—enough that I could have tried to pass again, if I wanted.

Or rather, if I was enough of a sucker to try that again.

Instead of making another attempt to pass, I dropped back a little, glaring at the other car with hatred.

Fucking teenagers.

It took me by surprise when she hit the brakes, and I was hard pressed not to plow into her. I heard the screeching protest of her tires as she veered off onto a side road I hadn't seen in the dark.

Making a split-second decision, I followed, my car fishtailing in the wet mud as I made the turn.

It crossed my mind a couple of times that this was definitely _not _the best way to handle this, but at the moment I didn't care. I followed the red car up the bumpy dirt road; after a short distance, they stopped.

I pulled up right behind, like a fucking cop on a fucking traffic stop. I had half-wanted to ram them, but didn't want to screw up my car.

A little voice inside my head was screaming at me, wanting to know what the fuck I was doing as I left the engine running and leapt out into the rain. I didn't listen.

Because by then I was furious. Ever heard of road rage? Yeah, this is what it looks like.

I marched up to the closed door on the driver's side, not even caring about the rain that was starting to saturate my clothes, or the mud that was no doubt ruining my shoes. I pounded on her window with my fist, only to be met with more laughter.

The bitch had to be some kind of fucking idiot. Either that, or too wasted to care.

"Out of the car!" I screamed, still ignoring the panicking voice in my head. The girl just bent over, chortling to herself. Her hair was a bright, flaming red. Probably dyed. No one had hair that fucking color. Not in real life.

"Get out of the fucking car!" I yelled again, my fingers itching to reach for the door handle. It was like a monster had been unleashed inside of me, clawing its way to the surface and taking control of my actions. A monster which I was usually able to keep contained, except for...

"Do we have a problem here?"

My head snapped up. A man was leaning casually against the other side of the car—in my blind rage, I hadn't even noticed the passenger door open. He was generally unkempt in appearance, sporting uneven stubble on his chin and a dirty blond ponytail...and he was definitely _not _the teenager I had assumed. His blue eyes were cold and completely sober as he regarded me.

Shit.

I took a step back, even though the car was still between us. The cold rain trickled down my neck, but I barely noticed.

The man raised his eyebrows. "I _said_, do we have a problem, motherfucker?" he asked evenly, never raising his voice. His face was lit weirdly in the glare of my headlights, a sharp contrast between light and shadow. He took a casual step toward the front of the car, his eyes fixed on mine through the slanting rain.

I swallowed. The rage had definitely receded somewhat, and for the first time, I felt the potential danger of my situation. I had no fucking clue who this guy was or what he was capable of, and here I was, out in the middle of fucking nowhere without any protection.

But that didn't mean I was about to back down. I wasn't going to lose face in front of this asshole. I squared my shoulders and looked the motherfucker in the eye.

"Do you have any idea who I am?" I hissed.

He smiled. "No, actually." He took another step; he was even with the front of the car now. "And to be perfectly honest, I don't give a flying fuck who you are. Because you know what? I really don't like it when some dickhead yells at my girlfriend."

He hadn't raised his voice once...so why did my legs feel like they were part of one of those cheap-o kids' toys where you push in the button underneath and the little wooden figure collapses in a jumble of string and body parts?

What? You know...those...things...

I couldn't seem to look away as he started around the front of the car, his cold eyes never leaving mine. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the guy, really—he was no taller than I was, and looked to be of average build. He'd given no sign that he was carrying a weapon, either. Still, there was something about the way he moved—like he was a predator and I was...

I took another unsteady step back. The girl said something from inside the car, but her voice was muffled, and I couldn't hear what she said.

I swallowed again, my throat feeling incredibly dry all of a sudden. "Look. I don't want any trouble here." And then, because I really didn't know when to shut up: "But that ho of yours was driving like a lunatic back there—"

"Vicky drives just fine," he interrupted in that same smooth tone, though there was now a hint of warning there as well. "And you know something? I don't think you learned your lesson; _no one_ says that about my girlfriend."

Maybe my survival instincts could have used a tune-up, or else my bout of road rage still hadn't receded entirely. Or maybe it was just my fucking pride which made me stand a little straighter and do my best to stare him down. "You know what, asshole? I'll fucking trash-talk your fucking girlfriend all I fucking want. I own this place, and if you don't like it, you and your redheaded bitch can take turns sucking my—"

He moved so fast I barely registered it before his hand was latched onto the front of my collar. I tried to jerk out of his grasp, but it was too firm to break free. I clawed at his arm with my hands, but his hold only tightened in warning. Jesus, he had a grip like a fucking vise.

Something—maybe fear of retaliation—kept me from trying to fight harder. Maybe my senses had finally caught up with me.

He smiled when I stopped struggling.

"You think you're something big, don't you?" he murmured, his eyes narrowed as he hauled me closer until our faces were only inches apart. "Maybe you are, on your own turf. But no one—_no one_—calls my girlfriend a bitch. Or a ho, or a skank, or a whore, or whatever else was bouncing around in that over-inflated skull of yours." He shook me, and my teeth rattled against each other. "You hear me, asshole?"

When I didn't answer right away, he pivoted and shoved me up against the side of the car.

My eyes widened, the breath temporarily knocked out of me. The cold metal of the car pressed painfully into my back, and his grip on my collar was even tighter than before.

"Let me try again," he hissed, his eyes flashing dangerously. "_Do you understand?"_

The rain was loud in my ears, rattling off the red car as it soaked both of us through to our skin. I was vaguely aware of the car door opening beside me, and the redhead appeared at his side.

"Jamie." Her high-pitched voice was grating, even in a murmur. She was no longer laughing, I noticed. "Jamie," she said again, tugging on his arm. "Don't, baby."

"You heard what he—"

"I know," she murmured, now running her hands up and down his arm a little too fast to seem soothing. "But it's not worth it. Just let him go, okay? Don't do anything you'll regret."

The hint of panic in her voice wasn't much of a comfort.

'Jamie' raised his eyebrows as he regarded me; his grip was as tight as ever, and I was beginning to feel a little faint, but I still didn't try to fight back. "I'll let him go as soon as I'm convinced he's learned his lesson," he said smoothly. He shook me again, his hold tightening even more. "Well, motherfucker?"

Somehow, I managed to nod.

He hauled me away from the car, up close to his face again. "Make sure you don't forget."

He released me, and I staggered back a few steps, gasping as my hand went to my throat. My heart was galloping in my chest.

"Now get back in that shit-ass car of yours and get lost before I change my mind," he said, his voice calm again as he slung a casual arm around the redhead's shoulders; she had a hand on his chest, as if restraining him.

The guy had to be a fucking psychopath or something. In any case, I wasn't about to argue. I backed up until I stumbled into the hood of the Mercedes. Spinning around, I yanked open the door and half-fell into the driver's seat. I pulled the door shut and hit the locks.

I could have sworn I saw him smirk when he heard the sound.

Gritting my teeth, I shoved the car into reverse.

I couldn't stop shaking, even once I was back on the highway.

Why the fuck hadn't I fought back? What kind of fucking pussy was I? I should have at least tried to punch him in the gut or something...

Or better yet, knee him in the junk.

But I hadn't done either of those things. I hadn't even _tried_ to fight back, and for some reason, that was more chilling than anything else that had happened tonight.

I glanced in the rearview mirror, half-wondering if I would see their car tailing me.

The road behind me was empty.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Cullen?" I hissed, hating the quaver in my voice. "Pull yourself together..." I fumbled with the radio for music or some shit to calm me down, but my hand was shaking so hard I couldn't work the dial.

Probably wouldn't have done much to calm me anyway.

The rain pelted down harder than ever, and I continued to shiver. Part of it was because I was soaked through and freezing, I realized; I managed to turn the heat up to full blast without too much difficulty.

I caught myself glancing in the mirror again, seeing nothing but empty darkness.

"Fuck," I muttered, gripping the steering wheel. "Fucking assholes."

Why hadn't I fought back? Simple. I was a fucking coward, that's why. I was so used to being in control, to having the upper hand, and I hadn't known how to react when I didn't. Temporary insanity, brought on by rage, had gotten me into that mess, and I hadn't had enough guts to get myself out...

I exhaled a long breath between my teeth, and forced myself to remember who I was.

I was Carlisle Cullen, a man of importance, a man with connections.

And that asshole was going to pay.

A sly grin crept across my face as I pulled out my phone. I may have been helpless on his turf, but I was back on mine now. I didn't know much about them—just their descriptions, their first names, the make of their car...

And of course, the number on their license plate.

Yeah, I was good at remembering numbers. Comes in handy, sometimes.

He answered on the first ring. "You need something, Cullen?"

"Yeah," I said, forcing my voice to remain calm. My body was still vibrating, but no longer from fear alone; a thrill of anticipation rippled through me at the prospect of what was about to come.

It wasn't that long ago—half an hour...was that all it had been?—that I'd contemplated calling him for the dirt on Isabella Swan. But at the moment, she was nothing but a distant blip on my radar. Right now, my highest priority was getting revenge on those two motherfuckers who had dared to rattle my cage.

'Jamie' and 'Vicky' were about to get a rude awakening. I was beginning to enjoy myself, and I hadn't even started yet.

"I need some information."

Always the best place to start.

"That's what I do best," he answered, a hint of dark humor in his voice. "Name?"

"Only the first, I'm afraid. 'Jamie' or maybe 'James' for the guy. 'Vicky' for the chick." I didn't feel any guilt whatsoever for including the redhead in this; I didn't give a fuck that she had tried to talk him down, since she and her crazy-ass driving were responsible for the whole thing in the first place.

"You better have more than that."

"Oh don't worry," I sighed, smiling to myself. "I got more." I was definitely feeling better. The tension had begun to ease away with the knowledge that I was going to hit them, and hit them hard. They wouldn't even see it coming. I would draw it out, make it delicious. They hadn't exactly struck me as upstanding, straight-laced citizens—they had to have things in their past I could use. And if not...well, I was sure I could make an assault charge stick.

I was Carlisle Cullen, after all, and even if it was nothing more than their word against mine, I was confident that there would be no problems.

I continued to smile as I gave him the license plate number, relaxing more with every moment. I gave him their general description for good measure—pale chick with fake red hair, scruffy man with blond ponytail...all the details I could remember.

I was still busy describing them when I noticed something pale moving in the beam of my headlights. Distracted as I was, it took me a moment too long to register the danger.

I spit a curse through my teeth, dropping the phone and jerking the wheel hard to the left at the same time that I slammed on the brakes.

I felt the impact, though it was mostly from the side. The fucking airbag blew up in my face, blinding me...

The next several seconds were a confused jumble of screeching tires and dizzying momentum as I desperately tried to bring the car to a stop. It finally did so with a sideways jerk. The engine stalled out, and I was left panting, my heart pounding loudly in my ears, louder than the rain.

I stared down at the deflated airbag in my lap, not quite registering what had just happened. What the fuck had I hit, anyway? I'd only gotten a glimpse, but it hadn't looked like an elk or a deer. It had looked more like some sort of big fucking cat. A cougar or something—a mountain lion.

Who the hell hits a fucking mountain lion?

I started to laugh, though I wasn't sure why. A mountain lion—how rich was that? An ordinary deer wasn't good enough for a Cullen, apparently. I barely registered the tinny sound coming from the floor, where I'd dropped my phone. Someone shouting? I was too far gone to care at the moment.

Some part of my brain registered how lucky I'd been to come out of that in one piece, without plowing into a fucking tree or something. It only made me laugh harder.

My laughter died in my throat about the time that I realized that nothing about this was remotely funny. I should have waited to call him—I'd been too wrapped up in it, not paying attention to what I was doing or the worsening driving conditions. I was lucky to be alive. I took a deep breath, and let it out again. I took another. Everything was going to be okay. I wasn't hurt, I was fine. Everything was—

That's when I heard the approaching rumble.

My head snapped up, and I was blinking into a pair of headlights bearing down upon me. High headlights, which obviously belonged to a large vehicle—probably another logging truck.

I realized about then that my car was sitting sideways in the middle of the fucking lane.

Shit.

You know that feeling you sometimes get? That everything is out to get you? That maybe your number is up, and there's really nothing you can do to cheat your fate? That Zeus has a whole fucking sackful of lightning bolts and he's bound and determined to hit you with one of them?

Yeah, that's about the way I felt in that moment.

As I sat paralyzed, watching the logging truck bear down on me, none of the usual clichés seemed to apply. I didn't see my life flash before my eyes. I didn't feel guilt or regret for all the lives I'd knowingly screwed over. I didn't wonder if there was a heaven or a hell, or which of them awaited me if they did exist. I didn't feel guilty that I had never loved Edward as I should have—as a son. I didn't even notice the irony that in trying to destroy those two assholes back there, I'd somehow managed to destroy myself instead.

Zeus was about to hit his mark.

The driver flashed his lights, the blaring of his horn and the useless groan and squeal of his brakes reaching my ears. I blinked, and thought fleetingly of my wife.

Esme. The only thing that really mattered...that had ever mattered. The one thing that had been taken away.

Life is a fucking bitch. Death...well, I guess I was about to find out.

"Fuck," I murmured, right before the truck slammed into the side of the Mercedes.

Cold. Black.

No more fucking rain.

Nothing.

o~o~o

The End. ;)


End file.
